In the bar
by planet p
Summary: A habitable planet, or a derelict spaceship? The crew choose the planet, of course. Or, do they?


_Don't own it, any of it._

* * *

She met him downstairs, in the bar. She walked into the bar in a navy blue evening gown, in clouds-for-dreaming white shoes, some low-heeled affair. A wave of apprehension stole her, for a moment, and she changed the colour of her dress to apple-and-blackcurrant maroon. She'd hate him to think she was depressed, and feel obliged to blunder through a session of I-_can_-care prying.

The innocent pitter of her kindergarten white shoes had him turning to look; her pace remained unvaried on her approach, nonetheless. She slipped onto a stool and ordered a drink.

"This isn't right," he said, as though inferring that what they were doing wasn't right, though they weren't doing _anything_. Well, nothing like that.

Talking.

At least, he was.

She said nothing. She didn't think it was wrong, she didn't think anything was wrong. But he was well known for both over thinking and paranoia.

She turned her chin, her eyes slowly following to rest lightly upon his face. "I might interject, at this interval, to inform you, sir, that I am in no way whatsoever inclined to share your opinion. If this is all you have asked me here tonight to discuss -- you poor thing, you're _homesick_ -- then I suggest a change of scenery, and company." She was being unduly posh, unnecessarily cold-shouldered, but she'd never been a fan, nor a friend, and she saw no reason to start now.

His brown eyes held nothing more, or less, than they ever had. Apparently, he'd decided that tonight, coupled with her frostiness, she deserved no more, and he deigned her no more.

It only served to further cement her opinion of him. "Have you no emotion?" she asked bitingly, and was afforded with silence. "As automaton as you ever were," she replied lightly, undertones of snipe clouded in posh elegancy. A smile was flashed his way. "Shouldn't have expected otherwise, I suppose." The smile sweet.

There's nothing more to discuss, no more words to exchange in meaningfulness, and so, he stood; he would leave, now.

"I should buy you a drink," she offered, with a flutter of lacy eyelashes.

"That will not be necessary," returned the reply, unclipped, but neither friendly. They were strangers again, as they had been before; as they would remain so, always. He wouldn't reach out again.

She felt no press of conscience, no wavering, dying ember, but, regardless: "I insist." From nowhere, she thought, with umbrella-and-a-slice-of-pineapple amusement.

His back was to her, still.

She slipped from the stool with all the elegance she could afford in such a dress as she was wearing, and took a few steps toward him. She'd not reach up a hand to rest upon his shoulder, but, by then, he'd since turned. She found their eyes locked, once more.

She was seized by a fluster of something between annoyance, impatience, humiliation, and something else that she'd decided she'd not pinned down, yet. "I do insist, sir," she relayed, with a flourish of the hand toward the bar.

He didn't purse his lips, let out a long held breath. Instead, dead eyes.

"With all the animation of an Umbrella employee," she assessed, unable to stop herself, "T-virus edition, and all." Zombie eyes.

"I don't."

"Don't?" with raised eyebrows, a glimmer of the eyes.

"Drink."

"Oh, neither do I, to new acquaintances." A smile quirked her lips, bloomed full.

His look was blank.

"Ah... something else, then?" she posed.

"No."

"_Something_, Nic-" She paused, midway -- momentary whine abandoned, unloved -- forged on, "Nicholas." A strange, unholy thrill took hold of her; never before could she remember calling him by anything other than Rush.

"No." No emotion, no shake of the head.

"Are you-" A small frown touched her brow. "How are things?" Brighter, now.

A shake. _They're not right_: blank.

"How are you?" she rephrased, dress morphing to bright green. Something with a zing of floral, without the cloying sweetness. Youthful, fresh.

His eyes remained, unchanged.

She laughed, back of hand over mouth. "We will walk," she decided.

He offered up no objection. She walked, he walked.

_Good._

* * *

"I'm leaving."

She's ahead; she spun. (Safer on low heels.) "_Leaving_?" The preposterousness, the ridiculousness. Not to mention, the ever in-style: How? A little laugh escaped her, more as a giggle.

He directed his eyes upward, toward a darkened sky, no more than a second.

A peel of giggles, as though she were in the business of fruit salad: Apples and oranges, bananas, cherries, blackcurrants, blueberries... "Goodbye," she gasped, wide-eyed. _Oh, indeed!_ At her word, she sensed a change, a taking in of an acceptance; a hand reached for something... for land, drowning... "Oh, no! You're not-"

Answered a nod. "So shall it be, Miss Armstrong. We part this night, as before, for... for another lifetime." A small smile, perhaps, in the dark, between circles of light. "Good evening, miss. May you go in good fortune, for all your days."

She stumbled, but.. no... only in her mind... she stood bound to the spot, arms about her as though wrapped of a chilly night without a shawl, or kind gentleman to offer coat or jacket, or an arm. "Rush!" in a rush of air.

"Not my planet." Something in his eyes, then.

"You don't-"

"I _don't_," with conviction. No, he doesn't; not his planet, not his people.

She'd promised there'd be no arguments, her throat repealed, "What difference does it-"

"It makes _all_ the difference, Miss _Armstrong_." Conviction, back in full force.

A prickle of hate: that conviction, turned on her name; serious, almost flat. "They're people, like _any other_ people! They're _human_!" What's more!

"Not my people."

"Listen! Listen to yourself!" Fury joined her now. "They're _human_; you're _human_!"

"Different sun, different warmth," he said, "coolness."

Her arm jumped up, finger pointed.

His parting word: "Homesick." (Humorous?)

She stood, arm held out in front of her in all ridiculousness, and watched him walk away.

_Oh._

_Oh, shit!_

She did not follow; only watched.

* * *

**In the bar** by planet p

_I personally find it kinda spare. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
